


One Foot in the Grave

by SunflowerSupreme



Series: Witcher (A/B/O) [21]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Gen, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Jaskier | Dandelion, The Witcher 2: Assassins of Kings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:47:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26426614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme
Summary: The bard’s hanging for debauchery.One Foot in the GraveTo be close to death
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Triss Merigold, Zoltan Chivay & Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher (A/B/O) [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1598041
Comments: 30
Kudos: 117





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright so to get everyone up to speed: 
> 
> The Witcher 2 starts with Geralt being accused of murdering Foltest, but the actual murderer is another Witcher. Geralt is taken captive and tortured by Vernon Roche who eventually agrees to help him escape. 
> 
> Roche, Geralt, and Triss all then go to the city of Flotsam, where Roche has an informant.

Flotsam was, to put it politely, a shithole. Geralt shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment to adjust to the smell of the city and the clamor of the crowds.

“Geralt?” Triss was ahead of him, looking back with a raised eyebrow.

“Coming,” he said gruffly.

Roche felt that the execution was the best place to get the lay of the town, so they made their way up the path, weaving through the town. The streets were deserved, as everyone seemed to be at the execution, rather than living their daily lives.

Geralt shook his head. _Nothing draws more interest than public hangings or whippings_ , he thought irritably. _And humans think I’m a monster_.

“Here we are,” said Roche, curving the corner of the road where it opened up into a crowded square, a scaffold at the other end.

The Witcher stopped at the edge of the city square, his heart catching in his chest. Standing on the scaffold, a noose already around his neck, was a familiar shape. “Zoltan!” The dwarf was irritated looking, but Geralt barely barely noticed him, his attention pulled to the figure beside him. “Dandelion!”

A noose hung around his neck, his hands tied in front of him. Standing on a trap door he awaited his fate.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The memory at the beginning is from The Lady of the Lake (the last Witcher book). 
> 
> I wrote an AU of the scene in  In a moment, you will cut off my head, and you want me to forgive you? Are you kidding me or what? Shame on you! if anyone is interested.

_The pounding of hooves. The rattle of a cart._

_“It’s Dandelion!” cried Ciri, her eyes wide with shock._

_“It cannot be Dandelion,” scoffed Geralt._

_“It’s him! Geralt we have to do something!”_

_There had been nothing he could do. They’d marched Dandelion to the scaffold, laid his head on it. Geralt could still see the axe, raising above his head, could hear the screaming of the crowd. Dandelion, squeezing his eyes shut._

_Then, a galloping horse, an unfamiliar voice- “Halt!”_

* * *

Just as soon as the memory had started, it was over. 

“My informant,” Roche was saying, sounding irritated. Geralt wished he could be surprised. Of course Dandelion had gotten himself mixed up in spying again. Of course he had. It made absolute sense if you were a complete moron. 

“Just great,” grumbled Triss. Geralt could already imagine her complaints about Dandelion dragging them into nonsense yet again and found himself inclined to agree. 

“What’s the plan?” Roche asked, glancing to Geralt.

The Witcher grit his teeth. “We improvise.”

“No killing,” said the Roche, seeming unnerved by Geralt’s expression. _I didn’t kill anyone last time, he got off that scaffold by his own fool’s luck. I won’t fail him again._

Dandelion spotted him as Geralt shoved his way through the crowd. “Geralt! Geralt! Over here! Help!”

But before he could reach the scaffold, there was a soldier in his way. “Step back, white one.”

“What are they going to hang for?” Geralt demanded, gesturing to the elf and the bard. He didn’t care about the others on the scaffold, they weren’t his responsibility. “They don’t look dangerous.”

“The chargers….” The soldier looked down at his notes, a frown on his face. “Colluding with the Scoia'tael.”

Geralt snorted. “Dandelion? An elven spy?”

“The bard’s hanging for debauchery.” 

“What?” Of course, debauchery was something Dandelion was likely to get up to, Geralt just hadn’t realized it might be illegal. Behind him, Triss groaned.

“The sentence was, he’s to hang for debauchery.”

“Are you serious?” Geralt asked, still struggling to figure out what Dandelion might have done that warranted a hanging. “Listen here, people, is profligacy now a punishable offense in the free kingdom of Temeria? Or are we in Nilfgaard?”

“Piss off Freak!” snapped the soldier. “Or you’ll have me to deal with!”

“He speaks true,” a man stepped from the crowd, flicking his eyes curiously over Geralt as though not quite certain what he was looking at. “Debauchery’s one of my favorite pastimes, but I don’t want a noose placed round my neck for pursuing it.”

Beside the villager was a woman, her heavy makeup and tight dress immediately telling her occupation, even before she said, “This solder boy’s paid us a visit or two, though he didn’t have much fun.”

The soldier’s face turned red. “Away with you Margot! Go back to your brothel!”

“Fine,” sniffed Margot. “But hear this people, he sure likes to parade about, but his willy wouldn’t come to attention.” On the scaffold, Dandelion snickered.

“Stop the execution!” said Geralt, reaching for his sword, Roche’s warning forgotten.

“Shut your trap,” snarled the solider. “The singer’s to hang and he will hang. This is a decent town. Whores and Witchers not withstanding.” 

“Watch your words guardsman,” said the villager who had defended him earlier. “I don’t know Witchers, but Margot’s a decent woman.”

“Shut it all of you, or I’ll not vouch for what I’ll do!” The solider backed up, reaching for his own weapon.

“Thinks he’s tough, showing off his balls,” taunted Margot. “Don’t fret people. I’ve seen the rot on them.”

“I’m warning you for the last time, Margot!”

“You wouldn’t hit a Lady,” snarled Geralt.

“You’re no lady!” The solider lunged at him, but Geralt easily stepped aside. He hit the ground, allowing Roche and Triss to grab him while Geralt made a break for the scaffold, knocking the executioner off before he could reach for the levers to drop the prisoners.

Then a booming voice echoed through the square. “What the hell is going on here?” A squat man was stomping toward them, his fine clothes revealing himself to be someone of power. “I said, what the arse fuck is going on?”

“Geralt!” hissed Dandelion, he lifted his bound hands, as though reaching for Geralt, but the Witcher was still barely out of his reach. Now they that were closer, Geralt could smell the stench of fear,hidden beneath his perfumes and the general stink of the city. With a snarl, Geralt placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Stay calm,” said the man, “hands off your sword. Our scaffold embraces speeches and hangings, which will it be?”

“You have no right to hang them,” Geralt challenged.

“Interesting. Because I’m the law in Flotsam.”

“I take issue with that!” Roche, who had been sitting on the chest of the soldier, stood, dusting himself off and flashing his badge. “Vernon Roche, officer of the King.”

“Well, well, blue stripes. The non-human hunters.”

“Precisely. Anyone suspected of collaborating with non-humans falls under my jurisdiction.”

The man gestured to Zoltan, as though inviting Roche to go up and cut him down, to take him away for questioning. _One down. One to go_ , thought Geralt.

“And Dandelion?” asked Geralt. “What’s he accused of?” Hopefully it involved fucking a non-human, which could be used to put him under Roche’s jurisdiction.”

“He burned down a watch tower,” said the man.

_Watchtower?_ Geralt thought. _What had happened to the debauchery charge?_

“What’s your jurisdiction say to that?” The man waited. Roche shot Geralt an apologetic glance. “I thought so.”

“Is that true?” Geralt hissed at the bard.

“It might have looked that way,” Dandelion said quickly. “But I swear it wasn’t my fault.”

“It never is,” Geralt muttered under his breath.

“I’d rather give you a thief….” The man had reached the scaffold and was gesturing at one of the other prisoners, as though offering to trade. “Ah, I’m joking. I hate thieves,” with that, he kicked the lever, sending the man plummeting to his death. He gasped and twitched, but only for a moment, before going still. Dandelion whimpered, reaching for Geralt once again, but the Witcher swatted his hands away.

“We could put on another show,” offered the man, gesturing to the solider Triss was still cornering. “Bloody and serious this time mind you, or we can come to an understanding.” He crowded in close to Geralt who stepped in front of the lever that would release the trap door under Dandelion. If he wanted that one, he’d have to fight for it.

“Meaning?” Geralt asked.

The man leaned closer. “Give me a minute, witcher,” he murmured. Then he turned to the crowd, holding out his hands as though he were about to give a great speech.

“Listen here,” the man shouted. “You may have heard rumors of the tragic events that transpired during the siege. Sadly they are true. King Folest is dead.”

“Geralt,” hissed Dandelion. “Cut me down.”

Geralt shook his head, watching the speaker carefully.

“It’s likely that non-humans had a hand in this heinous murder. So you see, none of you can feel safe. That is why today wagons with armaments will roll out into the streets. I hereby declare a state of emergency.”

“Geralt!”

“Quiet, bard!”

“Await orders. Prepare to fight and ready yourselves to avenge your fallen king. Now disperse. Go to your homes!” His speech finished, he turned back, seeming rather pleased that Geralt hadn’t released Dandelion just yet. Exactly as Geralt had suspected.

“What about them?” Geralt jerked his hand at Dandelion and Zoltan.

“They’ll not hang for now. Lets say I’m…. Reconsidering their cases. The scaffold is no place for civil conversation, we’ll talk at my home. Your friends are free for the time being, but they’re not to leave town. Come after dusk. I’ll be busy until then.” Then he jumped off the platform with a grunt, vanishing into the turbulent crowd.

“Geralt! Cut me down!”

Geralt pulled the noose off his neck, then crouched over and, in one smooth movement, tossed Dandelion onto his shoulder.

“Hey!” squeaked the bard.

_It’s what you deserve_ , Geralt thought as he untied Zoltan, letting the dwarf jump down on his own. A bit of humiliation wouldn’t kill Dandelion, but it might drill some sense into him.

Geralt clamored down off the platform, dropping Dandelion off his shoulder to sit on the stairs while he untied his wrists.

“They were really going to hang us,” Dandelion stuttered, glancing over his shoulder at the scaffold nervously. “I- I- I don’t know, I didn’t mean to torch that watchtower.” Again, there was no mention of the debauchery charge, which Geralt couldn’t wait to pull out of him.

“Everything’s all right, Dandelion,” he said softly, reaching out to straighten the bard’s hat. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Oh, we owe you Geralt,” said Zoltan, stomping up next to them. “Thank you. Time to hit the Tavern, come on Dandelion,” he said, patting the bard’s arm, “you need a stiff drink.” Then Zoltan was hurrying off, calling out a greeting to Triss.

“No, he doesn’t,” muttered Geralt. He caught Dandelion’s arm before he could slip away, dropping his voice and asking, “Have you… got everything?”

Dandelion nodded stiffly. “It’s a very lax prison,” he said. “I was able to keep my things. They never even searched me.”

“Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene is fucking hilarious and you should watch it on Youtube if you haven’t already. The voices actors are SPOT ON, particularly when Geralt’s trying to calm Dandelion down. [It starts at 2:35](https://youtu.be/Kq3vO3of0GA?t=9343)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is coming along quickly since I'm basically just stealing dialogue from the game and altering it a bit. 
> 
> Also adding in Geralt's Manly Angst Thoughts (TM)

Roche went to talk to Loredo, the man who had stopped the execution, while Geralt herded the two escapees to the inn. Or rather, he kept an eye on them as Dandelion led, since the Witcher had no idea where it was.

As they wove through town, Geralt asked, “Since when have you worked for Roche?”

“Hey!” Dandelion narrowed his eyes at him over his shoulder. “Nobody said a word when you went off to save Temeria from the Grandmaster and his mutants!”

“Relax Dandelion,” Geralt soothed, patting his shoulder. “I was just asking. Do want you want. You’re an adult.” He paused, then added, “Kind of.”

Zoltan burst out laughing.

Triss slapped Geralt’s arm. “That wasn’t very supportive.” He raised an eyebrow, wondering when the sorceress had decided to defend the bard. But then, he supposed that, despite Dandelion’s evident dislike of her, she’d always seemed to find him more than tolerable (even if she did seem to use the same tone and expressions with Dandelion that she did with children).

Dandelion didn’t seem to know if he was more offended by Geralt’s words or by the fact that Triss had tried to defend him. “Laugh away,” he sneered. “At least I decided to do something constructive.”

“You used to spy for Redania,” Geralt growled, careful to keep his voice low enough that only his companions could hear. “Now you’re spying for Temeria. Some might call you a traitor.”

Dandelion scowled, folding his arms over his chest defiantly, as though daring Geralt to tell him off. “Ever tried to live off poetry alone? The truth is, I’m a citizen of the world. As long as I don’t serve Emperor Emhyr, I’m not doing any harm.”

Zoltan just shook his head as he pushed open the inn’s door. “Leave him be, Geralt. He’ll play the spy a bit, get bored, and drop it. You know how he is.”

Geralt only nodded. The last thing he wanted to do was control Dandelion or order him around, but he couldn’t help but remember what had happened the last time Dandelion had spied, how Dijkstra had used found his secrets and used them against him. He wasn’t certain what Roche would do, but given the man’s attitudes toward non-humans, he couldn’t imagine the man treating Omegas any better. The still healing whip marks on Geralt’s back were a painful reminder of the lengths Roche was willing to go to in order to get what he wanted.

Inside, Dandelion was his usual rambunctious self, grinning as he plopped down at the table. “Ha ha! Damn that was close!” he laughed. “Innkeep! Vodka!” 

“Can somebody tell me what happened?” Geralt demanded, looking between the two troublemakers. “You two set off a month ago for Zoltan’s wedding.” Neither would meet his eye.

“That got fucked,” muttered Zoltan. “There will be no wedding.”

Before Geralt could ask more, their drinks were being placed in front of them and Dandelion was leaning across the table, his eyes gleaming. “I want to know how Foltest died. And the dragon! Was there really one there? And who rules Temeria now? What did the dragon look like?” He paused only long enough to take a swig from his vodka.

“Dandelion, calm down, you’ll choke on your liquor.” The bard glared over the rip of his cup until Geralt continued, “The dragon…. Well, the dragon appeared, that’s all I knew.

“Where did the La Valettes get a dragon? We heard it fought on their side, huge as a barn they say.”

“Dragons don’t usually pick sides,” Geralt explained. “Maybe its lair was nearby and it felt threatened.” That didn’t explain why the dragon had only attacked Foltest’s forces though.

“If you hadn’t driven it off,” said Triss, “Foltest might not have taken the castle.”

_If he hadn’t taken the castle he might still be alive_ , thought Gerald bitterly. “Maybe. We’ll never know for sure.”

“But I still don’t know what it looked like,” whined Dandelion, having produced a quill and paper from gods only knew where.

Gerald ignored him. “No wedding Zoltan?”

The dwarf had already finished his first beer. “Ha! They broke off the engagement because some up start put out that I’d joined the uprising in Vizima.” He continued grumbling, but Geralt couldn’t understand most of what he’d said, until he shouted, “Innkeep! Where’s our drink?”

“It was like this,” supplied Dandelion. “We got to Mahakam a week after the grandmaster died. We bought Zoltan an absolutely grand doublet and a pair of Geribuldi crakows and, as a gift for Eudora, a jade stone as big as my fist.”

“We were broke as a joke by the time Dandelion threw me a bachelor party at an establishment call _The Tight Lane_.”

“Next day, we went over to the Breckenriggs. They welcomed us in, sat us down, and proceeded to discuss the superiority of Mahakamam mining know how over any other. And that went on until dinner.”

“Just when I thought I’d learned more than I ever wanted to know about mining, they served the soup,” Dandelion chattered, waving his quill about for emphasis.

“You could have heard a pin drop. Old Breckenrigg rose and he says _‘A real dwarf works a mine, not chases fame on the battlefield.’_ ”

“You’ll never believe this Geralt, but they served duck blood soup! It was black as tar! They must have dropped lumps of coal into the pot!”

“‘Eat!’ Breckenrigg says, then proceeded to slurp down two full bowls of the shite. Old goat. Hope his mine caves in on his head.”

Geralt and Triss exchanged glances. It seemed she didn’t understand what had happened any better than Geralt had.

“Loredo says you’re working with the Scoia'tael, Zoltan,” said the Witcher, before either the bard or the dwarf could offer more confused rambling.

“I’ve done many things in my life, Geralt,” grumbled the dwarf. “But I’ve never stooped to banditry.” Dandelion gave him a strange look, but didn’t argue.

“The Scoia'tael don’t consider themselves bandits.”

“But I am no Scoia'tael.” Dandelion nodded to that, but was too busy drinking to speak.

Geralt nodded. “Triss,” he said. “You’re the expert on Temeria. Who’s in charge now?”

“It’s chaotic and it’s getting worse,” she said. “The old families are fighting for supremacy, no holds barred.”

“Baron Kimbolt and Count Maravel, I bet,” guessed Dandelion, a sour look on his face.

“Among others. After the assassination, when Geralt was in the dungeon, the lords convened in a field near La Valette Castle to choose a new ruler. Three days they debated and it looked more like a bazaar than a meeting of nobles. Except the trade was in court and ministry positions, spheres of influence, royal privileges and the currency was everything from lands to favored Omegas.”

Dandelion flinched. Gerald kicked Triss under the table.

Zoltan, thankfully, seemed not to notice. “Thah!” he spat. “Humans.”

“In spite of several duels and poisonings, no king was chosen. Civil war was in the air.”

“Where were the mages?” demanded Dandelion, his quill scratching across his paper as he hurried to keep up with Triss. 

“Aye!" agreed Zoltan. "Where were the grey eminences of the world when they were truly needed?”

“They weren’t invited. Neither was I.”

“Never stopped you before,” muttered Dandelion.

“But if not for their intervention, or the intervention of a few influential sorceresses, Baron Kimbolt would’ve taken the throne.”

“I was invited to sing at his court once,” piped up Dandelion. “Afterwards, he refused to pay me, and the food was awful.”

“Made his money in the flesh trade, or so I’ve heard it,” grumbled Zoltan. “Omegas that is. Poor bastards.” He shook his head sadly, not seeming to notice the way Dandelion’s jaw tightened.

“I saw one of his markets once,” said Triss softly. Geralt’s grip tightened on his beer, wishing he could shout at her to shut up, but she seemed to have genuinely forgotten Dandelion’s presence, too focused on the horrors of war. “Even I could smell the fear from a mile away.”

“Nasty bugger,” said Zoltan. “Geralt, if you’re in the business of killing nobles now, I know of a place to start.”

“Thanks Zoltan,” said the Witcher tersely. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Dandelion seemed to have found his voice, thanks to several swigs of vodka. “No way I’ll stay in Temeria if he’s crowned.” Triss lurched as if she’d just remembered his presence. She shot him an apologetic look which he pointedly ignored. 

“Did they ultimately resolve anything?” Geralt asked quickly.

“No. It ended as usual… Sadly John Natalis remains our only hope.”

“Ah!” said Dandelion, seeming happy to have something to contribute (or just glad for a change of subject. “The victor at Brenna and Foltest’s most tried and true field commander.”

“Hmm. During the deliberations, he was several days march from La Valette lands - with an additional two thousand armed men in tow. He’s to keep the peace until a rightful monarch is chosen.”

“They should put him on the throne,” said Dandelion, seeming truly eager for the first time since the talk of politics had started. “He used to break up flesh auctions on technicalities, like too many people in one building or illegal gambling.”

Triss shook her head. “Natalis is a soldier at heart. He’s not suited to rule and I don’t believe he wants to.

“He’s got an army behind him,” pointed out Zoltan.

“Which is why he can keep peace," said Triss. "A tenuous one sure, but it’s better than all out civil war. Besides which, he’s deeply in debt to a dwarven bank in which Philippa Eilhart, a sorceress, owns a controlling share.”

Dandelion’s face fell. “Never mind,” he muttered sullenly. “He’d be a shit king.”

“I think I’ve heard enough about politics,” said Geralt softly. Then he turned to Dandelion, hoping to see what information he could pry from him before Roche got to the poet. “Foltest’s killer lay in wait in a tower where the La Valettes had hidden the royal bastards. He was well-informed.”

“Wait a minute, what were you doing there?” Dandelion cocked his head, tapping his quill against his lips. 

“I was protecting the king. After the first attempt on his life, Foltest began treating me as his lucky charm. He ordered me to be at his side during the battle. The dragon separated us from the rest of the army.”

“Hmm,” said Dandelion, then he started scratching on his paper excitedly. 

“He disguised himself as a monk, a blind one at that. He let Foltest greet his children, waited until I had walked off, then slit the king’s throat from ear to ear.” Geralt shook his head. “Jumped out a window into the river below. Iorveth’s Scoia'tael were waiting in a boat - it was planned.”

“And you’re chasing him because he murdered the king?”

“I was accused of murder. I need to clear my name. Besides, I looked him in the eye before he escaped. He’s a Witcher.”

Dandelion jumped, his eyes widening with questions, but Geralt didn’t give him time to ask. “Then some brave Temerian soldiers piled on me, knocked me out. That's all I remember.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In summary: 
> 
> Geralt: What is happening?  
> Zoltan: There will be no wedding.   
> Triss: Look we need to be serious here  
> Dandelion: VODKA
> 
> Also Zoltan’s not quite a bandit, but when Geralt met him in the books he definitely had some things that didn’t belong to him, let’s say that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it’s never explained why the soldier claimed he was hanging for debauchery and then Dandelion claims it was for burning down a watchtower, so here’s my reasoning. Enjoy.

Night settled over Flotsam.

Geralt crept through the halls of the inn, keeping his tread light so that he wouldn’t bother any of the other patrons. There was only one person he wanted to speak to.

He pressed open the door to Dandelion’s room, stepping in hesitantly. “Bard?”

Dandelion sat up groggily, wiping his face. “Geralt?” he slurred. “Geralt, it’s late.” But he sat up anyway, fumbling blindly in the darkness for the candle on his bedside table, then holding it out for Geralt to light.

He snapped his fingers and it ignited, allowing Dandelion to see him. “I wanted to check on you,” Geralt said. His brow furrowed and he searched Dandelion for any wounds. “Did anyone-”

“No,” said Dandelion. “As I said, the security was lax. They never found my suppressants.”

Geralt nodded, then said, “Was it debauchery or burning down the tower?”

Even in the dark, he could see Dandelion’s face turn red. “Ah, well-” he scratched his head “-both.”

“Both?” Geralt raised an eyebrow. “How does that work? Kicked over a candle in the heat of passion? Wax play gone horribly wrong?”

Dandelion didn’t see the humor. “Very funny, Geralt.” He threw off the covers and swung his feet out of bed. “I was arrested for burning down the watch tower - which! I should add, was an accident! I was trying to get Zoltan out of custody - then I thought I’d get out of it by offering ahh- a favor of sorts to one of the guards. Didn’t work.”

Geralt remained silent, not knowing what else to say.

“Bastard fucked my throat and then threw me back in my cell,” snarled Dandelion. “Watching Roche step on his face was the highlight of my day. Besides not dying, that is.”

“It was the soldier from your execution?” Geralt asked in surprise.

Dandelion nodded.

“Were you hurt?” Geralt asked.

“No, Geralt.” He paused, then asked, “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I slapped your back earlier and you flinched.”

“It’s been looked at,” Geralt grumbled, shifting his shoulders uncomfortably.

Dandelion seemed unimpressed, pushing Geralt to sit on the bed. “Shirt off, _now_.” He didn’t wait for Geralt to obey, already pulling at the Witcher’s clothes, pushing them over his head. A soft whine escaped his lips at the sight of Geralt’s mutilated back.

“Its better than it was,” the Witcher said weakly.

“You’ve been tortured.” A careful finger traced his shoulder blade, mindful of the whip lines.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, Geralt,” Dandelion scolded. “What can I do? Who did this?”

Without thinking, Geralt replied, “Roche.”

“What? Why that bastard! I’ll-”

“No!” Geralt grabbed his wrist. “You won’t do anything, Dandelion.” He didn’t let go of him until the bard had nodded quickly. To keep him distracted, the Witcher said, “I know you. You’re dying to ask me something. What is it?”

“You’re the one who came to my room in the dead of night-” He had stepped away, fiddling in his bags, back turned on Geralt, but the Witcher could imagine his playful expression.

“Dandelion.”

“Alright, fess up,” said Dandelion, cheerfully. When he turned back to face Geralt, he was clutching water and a rag in his hands. “What happened to Foltest?”

For a moment Geralt debated reminding Dandelion that he’d already been treated, then decided it was best to give the poet what he wanted. “Want to know the version that has yet to make it to Flotsam? The king died in mysterious circumstances. The Witcher, Geralt, his sword covered in blood, was discovered standing over his corpse.”

The bard’s eyes widened, and Geralt could imagine him already itching to set the story to paper. “Did you kill him?” he asked softly. Quickly he added, “I mean, I know you said there was another killer, but if not, tell me and I’ll come up with a better story for you, because, Geralt, don’t take this the wrong way, but yours had some holes. Namely that another Witcher just happened to show up. I mean, really? Come on.” 

“It was like I said. The killer escaped before I could get him. I’m being set up.”

“So what’re you gonna do?” Dandelion sat beside him, pushing carefully on Geralt’s shoulder until the Witcher turned away, letting him see his back. He’d set the candle beside him, and angled Geralt so that the moonlight fell on him, but even with that, Geralt couldn’t imagine he could see well. At least he didn’t seem intent on giving him stitches. ”Run around, swinging your sword, hope the killer walks into range?”

“I don’t have to.” Geralt flinched as Dandelion pressed a cloth covered hand on a particularly deep wound. The bard clucked his tongue sympathetically. “The killer’s in the forest with the Scoia'tael, and he knows I’m here. We’ll find each other.”

“Geralt,” the bard whined, his hand suddenly on Geralt’s shoulder. “Please don’t do anything stupid. Don’t stick your neck out. If Laredo finds out you were involved in Foltest’s assassination-” he shook his head.“What can I do to help?” His hands were suddenly on Geralt’s back again, rubbing the cloth along his wounds with increased ferocity, as though he might scrub away all his troubles.

Geralt grit his teeth rather than admit Dandelion had hurt him. “I need information. Anything that would help me track down the Kingslayer.”

“I only know gossip- things folk have been saying since the king’s death. People are throwing out blame left and right. One day it’s the elves, another Nilfgaardians, then an Omega Conspiracy.” Dandelion snorted at the last one, muttering something about how stupid most Omegas were. Geralt decided to let it slide.

“Let me guess,” said the Witcher. “The suspects also include a Zerrikanian alchemist and group of halflings.”

Dandelion snorted. “Bold theory, but the mob comes up with even better ones.” The poet shook his head. “Know what?” he asked. “The most unsettling part of assassinations is the chaos they’ve unleashed in people’s minds.” His voice trailed off, one bare finger sliding slowly down Geralt’s spine as he lost himself in thought.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean chaos. People don’t know what to think- who’s good and who’s evil. And these are tough times, who knows what’s going to happen.” The scent of fear filled the air, but only for a moment before Dandelion swallowed and seemed to get himself back under control, darting back to his bag for more supplies. 

“You gave Vernon a full report on Flotsam.” Geralt watched him, making sure he didn’t come back with needle and thread, but it was only ointment and gauze. “Seen anything unusual around here?”

“They’ve got some amazing women at the brothel,” he said with a smirk. He draped his arms over Geralt’s shoulders, pressing his chest against the Witcher’s back, his face close enough to feel his breath tickling the hairs on Geralt’s cheek. “You should take a look. One of them-”

“You know what I mean.”

“A town like any other. It’s got a harbor, an inn, and a stinking, muddy river.” The bard grinned, his cornflower eyes gleaming in the dark. “That’s what an ordinary man would say.” He leaned back, no longer draped over Geralt, but still as excited as ever. “But we poets look into people’s souls. And things are not good.” He shook his head, suddenly the excitement and pride seeming to face. “I saw a robbery sanctioned by law, town watchmen laughing as they “confiscated” goods, all the while, talking about they’d finally bring order to the town. I saw drunken thugs beat up an elf woman while no one even flinched.” His voice grew more quiet, barely a whisper as he said, “I saw a man in town- a Beta, dragging a poor Omega boy by a leash, to sell him for a few coins. Couldn’t have been more than fifteen.”

The bard shivered. “I know these things happen everywhere, but here, it’s not motivated by hatred or misguided attempts at meting out justice. People are driven by cold calculation. They’re always looking for opportunities to get a little richer.

Again, Geralt found himself at a loss for words. “Well, mister master spy,” he said, a slight grin on his face. “I’m glad to have your keen powers of observation on my side.”

The bard studied him for a moment, a frown on his lips. Then he asked, “If you could go anywhere, Geralt, where would you go?”

“What?” 

“I’d go to the coast. In fact, let’s do that Geralt, the sooner the better.”

“What are you on about, poet?”

Dandelion pulled him to his feet, clinging to Geralt’s hand. “Let’s leave, Geralt. We’ll see if your Ciri is still out there - she could be, if she’s not run from this world entirely - we’ll leave the politics and their players behind, it’s never been your forte.”

“I have to clear my name.”

“Horse shit, Geralt. We’ll dye your hair and call you Lambert. People won’t notice, they’re far too stupid. Hell, Lambert himself wouldn’t notice, he’d be too busy trying to skin me.” 

“Dandelion,” he said slowly. “Foltest was killed by a Witcher. I have to know why.”

The bard’s shoulders sagged and he dropped back onto the bed, seeming distraught. “Geralt…..”

To distract him, Geralt said, “I’m having flashbacks, Dandelion.”

The bard almost seemed proud of him for that, asking, “What’ve you remembered?”

“My own death.”

His excitement faded, replaced with a shivered. “I saw that with my own two eyes, as I’ve told you many times. Yennefer gave her life to try to save yours. I hoped you might’ve remembered what happened afterwards.” He shook his head, once again staring at Geralt with a mix of shock and wonder. “I mean- how the devil can you be here now? I hear you, I see you, you’re breathing- I mean, you’re just alive.

“Dandelion, I’ve had a flashback or two.” Geralt glanced toward the door, thinking of all the things he still needed to do. “I don’t know everything yet.”

“I suppose.”

“I need to go,” Geralt said softly. “Try and sleep for a few hours, before hell breaks loose again.”

“You think it will?” Dandelion asked as Gerald stepped toward the door.

“Doesn’t it always?”

“Geralt, promise me something,” pleaded the bard.

He stopped, hand resting on the doorknob. “What?”

“Once you’ve cleared your name, be done with politics. Please, for me if not for yourself.”

Geralt didn’t say anything, slipping out the door and back into the hallway in silence.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to [Follow me on Tumblr](https://sunflowersupremes.tumblr.com/). I accept prompts, fangirling, and accusations of character abuse.


End file.
